


Being Amell

by LadyKleo



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Drama, F/F, Gen, Sketches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-05
Updated: 2012-06-12
Packaged: 2017-10-20 03:56:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/208491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKleo/pseuds/LadyKleo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a set of sketches to accompany my main fic, "The Curse of Amell". These are bits and pieces of the life of the Warden Commander Cassandra Amell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Curse of Amell](https://archiveofourown.org/works/208041) by [LadyKleo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKleo/pseuds/LadyKleo). 



  


A white-haired woman stands above a templar's corpse, and only the staff she is clutching in her hands keeps her from falling down. She touches the body with her boot and sighs in relief.

"Dead…"

She leans against the nearby wall, then slides down leaving a wide bloody trace on a wooden surface.

A blond man is sitting at the opposite wall. His robe is torn on his chest and covered in blood. He is trying to heal his wound, but it is not an easy task.

"It's not an end, is it?"

He touches an elf lying on the floor next to him, and she nods lightly letting him know she is alive.

"I don't care," whispers the white-haired woman. "They crossed the line. They dared to attack me on my territory. They died for it."

"Next time they may bring an army, you know…"

The man smiles with the corners of his lips.

"What a pity… I almost feel sorry for them…"

She presses her glowing hand to her chest trying to stop the blood.

"Do you think it's wise?"

The elf finally regains ability to talk. Her face is pale, but at least she is not bleeding.

"I don't care," the woman smiles, but her eyes are filled with pain. "I'm the bloody Hero, I slay Archdemons and end Blights. Who do they think they are to threaten me or my people?"

"Fools."

The man pokes one of the templars they have just killed with his staff and sighs. The war is inevitable. They have just made the first step towards it.  


* * *

She knocks the door, but there is no answer. Then she decides to enter. It is a huge hall decorated with banners and wood carvings. There are even two flower pots standing next to a book shelf. Someone tried to make this place lively. There is a throne standing at the wall opposite to the entrance, and someone is sitting on it and reading a book. It is a man, black hair, comfortable leather clothing.

"Um… Hello?"

She hopes her voice is loud enough. The man closes the book and looks at her.

"Hello. How may I help you?"

"I'm looking for the Warden Commander. And you are… not her."

"Definitely not!"

He laughs. She likes his laughter because it is sincere.

"I'm Bethany. Bethany Hawke."

"And I am…"

"Nate! Nate, have you seen my dog?"

A white-haired woman rushes into the room. She is wearing a light armour, but there is no sign of any weapon.

"I think he hunts that cat again. You've got a visitor, by the way."

The woman turns to Bethany and smiles.

"How do you do, pretty thing?"

Bethany smiles back.

"I'm fine, thank you!"

"Were you going to tell me anything urgent? Because if it can wait, I would ask you to stay here till I catch my dog. Poor Ser Pounce-a-lot, he never gets enough of sleep…"

"Ser Pounce-a-lot? But… But isn't it a name of Anders's cat?"

"It is. You know Anders? Nate! This girl knows Anders!"

"I heard that!"

The man sighs.

"I'm Cassandra Amell. And you are?"

The woman shakes Bethany's hand.

"My name is Bethany Hawke. Stroud sent me. I've got his letter here…"

She tries to find the envelope in her bag, but the Commander stops her.

"No need for that, cousin…"

She grabs Bethany's hand and drags her to the exit.

"You know about me?"

"Not much. I tried to find my family when I left the Circle. I found some names, yours was among them. But we are wasting time. We have a cat to save. We'll have plenty of time to chat afterwards."

She turns to the man she called Nate.

"Are you coming?"

"Yes, Commander…"  


* * *

She sits on a throne and cries clutching a piece of paper in her hand. She is wearing a nightgown, and her hair is messy. But she does not care.

"Good morning, Sunshine!"

An elf enters the hall, whistling and almost dancing. He is definitely in a better mood than she is. He squeezes himself into the seat next to her, forcing her to move onto his laps.

"What's wrong, my dear?"

He tries to wipe her tears, but it only makes her cry more. She shows him the letter she is holding.

"To the Warden Commander Cassandra Amell,

We are writing to inform you that Sister Leliana has accomplished her mission in Ferelden and now returns to her duty at the Grand Cathedral.

We apologise for any inconvenience caused by her transfer and hope that the money we send with this letter will cover any possible expenses.

From the desk of the Divine Justinia."

"Crap!" he exclaims. "Should I go to Orlais and drag her back to you? Assassinating some templars on my way? No?"

"A tempting offer," she tries to smile. "Thank you, Zev…"

"Seriously though, you've suspected it could happened, right?"

He hugs her and strokes her hair, and she relaxes a little in his arms.

"Yes. And that makes it harder. I had to confront her before she left, but I didn't. I… I wanted to believe her."

"Of course you did," he kisses her on forehead. "But you know what? Right now we should go to your room and find some clothes for you. We don't want anyone to see the Commander in such a condition."

He stands up, carrying her in his arms. She tries to protest, but he only holds her tighter.

"What would I do without you?" she whispers.

"I've got no idea," he smiles.

"If you were a woman I'd fall in love with you."

"Don't provoke me, my dear," he chuckles. "Next time I may come to you wearing a dress."

One day she will take a revenge on the Chantry for all her losses they caused. But now she tries to smile.


	2. Chapter 2

The world is a very strange place, Finn thought. Take, for example, the Circle of Magi. Its libraries contain thousands of manuscripts on every possible subject. Every relatively useful book written in Thedas can be found in one tower or the other. Most enchanters have access to this endless source of information. Mages themselves possess the power that could easily put them above “normal” people. And yet, they are locked in those towers with all the books, unable to get outside and share their knowledge with the masses. People would rather listen to the superstitious nonsense promoted by the Chantry than to a mage scholar.

“How’s the translation going?”

A familiar voice distracted him from his thoughts.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in Amaranthine?”

He gestured to a woman in a Grey Warden uniform, inviting her to join him at his desk.

“I was on my way from Denerim to the Keep, and decided to check on you.”

She accepted his invitation and sat in a chair next to him.

“Such a detour…”

“You know I love the view of the Lake Calenhad in spring time,” she smiled. “Seriously though, I brought you another book you might find interesting.”

“Oh? Where did you get this?”

Finn traced leafy ornament on a cover of a surprisingly well-preserved old tome with his fingertips.

“Smuggled straight from Cumberland,” she grinned.

“I see. Spreading your net, huh?”

“Sort of. My brother borrowed it for me.”

“While we’re talking about your contacts, are you still in touch with Surana? I came across some of his old papers, and I think he can be useful to us.”

“He’s in Montsimmard. Want me to send him a note?”

“I’ll write down some questions for him, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure,” she nodded. “So, what did you find?”

“All the sources I was yet able to check prove that Morrigan was either lying or misinformed. There is no way one can travel through the Eluvian into another realm. Two mirrors are needed to activate the portal.”

“Isn’t it what Tevinter magisters managed to achieve? I mean, what if the mirrors are capable of something else?”

“I don’t know… That is why I need to consult with someone who specializes in Spirit school.”

“Alim.”

“Yes. He studied Spiritualism from elven point of view.”

“I know. It was quite refreshing.”

“I hope he’ll be able to help us.”

“I’m sure he will.”

Their discussion was interrupted by a small girl in an apprentice robe who ran into the library, followed by other children.

“Cassandra! I knew I saw you! Will you tell us a story about the Archdemon? We have some new kids who haven’t heard it yet!”

“Sure, why not?” she smiled to Finn apologetically. “See you later!”

He nodded, looking at the Warden-Commander surrounded by young mages. They loved her and her heroic tales. He had no doubts she would tell them about Flemeth, the mighty Witch of the Wilds who saved her life, and her daughter Morrigan, the shapeshifter who could turn into a bear. She would tell them about the bravery of Senior Enchanter Wynne and First Enchanter Irving who fought alongside her on the top of Fort Drakon and helped her to slay the Archdemon. She would tell them about Anders and Velanna, her fellow Wardens who helped her to kill the Mother. She would mention a very old mage Avernus who, under her influence, changed from an evil blood mage into an ethical researcher. And she would tell them not to annoy Enchanter Finn, because his work was very important. They would listen to her. They always did.


	3. Spellfury.

"Just look at this beauty!"

Anders grabbed his commander's arm and dragged her towards the magical supplies stall at the Amaranthine market. It was there. A perfect staff most of the mages dream about. Or at least that was what he thought.

"A beauty indeed!"

Cassandra nodded with a smile, taking the staff from the merchant's hands. It was made of a bright blue stone and yellowish metal, and covered with runes. On top there was a huge glowing crystal. She weighed the staff in her hand only to find out it was perfectly balanced. Despite the obvious association with the ice magic, its surface was warm and pleasant to touch.

“Imagine all the blizzards it could make!”

He took it from her and made several passes, leaving a small trail of fluffy snowflakes. Kids, who observed them from a distance, clapped their hands and laughed. Anders bowed to them with a wide smile.

“Don’t you hate blizzards?”

Cassandra returned the staff to the merchant. The price was too high, even for the Arl of Amaranthine.

“Only those Velanna casts without announcing it first.”

He looked at the staff with a poorly hidden disappointment. They could combine their savings and borrow some money from the treasury as well to buy it, but in this case the Commander would keep it for herself. He noticed the dreamy expression on her face when she touched it. And he wouldn’t be able to collect that much coin on his own.

“Next time try not to walk far away from her. Morrigan used to cast a lightning storm when nobody was expecting it, so I leaned how to hide from such spells hard way.”

Cassandra laughed, stomping towards the potion supplier’s stall. She desperately tried not to look back at the staff, as it was calling her. _Spellfury_. Every mage’s dream. Or so she thought.

She knew she would eventually buy it.


	4. Chapter 4

Ser Marion stomped through the narrow Circle corridors, her heavy armour clashing with every step and making young apprentices shiver with uneasiness. 

“Have you seen Enchanter Alim?” she asked a tiny elven girl with short pigtails.

“No, Ser...” the mage mumbled, then added. “Though I’ve seen Bones next to the West wing library.”

The templar nodded and turned on her heel towards the West wing. With luck, she’d be able to find the blighted enchanter soon. She hated being a messenger, even if it was the Knight-Commander’s order. 

“Alim! Are you here?” she called, entering the library. Few mages turned their heads to the source of the noise, but seeing the plates quickly turned away.

“There is no need to shout, my lady,” a blond elf in a bright richly decorated robe appeared from behind a bookshelf. “I’m here”.

“Good. Follow me,” Ser Marion walked towards the next room without looking back at him. She knew the mage wouldn’t dare to disobey her order.

They entered an empty reading chamber, and the templar put a small sealed envelope on the desk. The elf looked at it, confused. Normally all the correspondence was opened and read by the Knight-Commander’s assistants before a mage would even be aware he or she had got a letter. Then, if it’s harmless, one of the Tranquils would deliver it to a recipient. 

“What is it?” Alim asked, studying the envelope. The handwriting looked familiar, but he failed to remember where he’d seen it.

“Don’t you recognize the emblem on the seal?” the templar shrugged. 

“A griffon,” the elf muttered. Now suddenly everything became clear. The letter had a Grey Warden seal, thus the templars had no right to open it. But they couldn’t just give it to him either, that was the reason behind Ser Marion’s presence. 

“I have no time to spare, so let’s make it quick,” she gave him a small knife.

“Sure,” he carefully removed the seal and unfolded the letter. 

The templar inspected the paper, then read the text written in small round letters.

“Enchanter Alim,

I would like to express my gratitude for the book of Elven legends about the Beyond. It helped me and Grey Warden mages to prepare for one of our recent expeditions. Some of my people are still alive thanks to the knowledge we gained from the book. We hope your research will continue further as it will give us a chance to eliminate the darkspawn threat forever.

May the Maker watch over you.

Enchanter Cassandra Amell,  
The Arl of Amaranthine,  
The Warden-Commander of Ferelden.”

The templar raised her eyebrow.

“What is it?”

“A thank-you letter from the Hero of Ferelden”, Alim chuckled. “I wonder why she didn’t mention this title among the others.”

“I can read,” Ser Marion didn’t find the mage’s answer amusing. “Do you think they send such letters to every researcher?”

“Only the smartest ones,” he kept smiling. “Or only the mages. We’re special, you know.”

“The smuggest ones, for sure,” she sighed. “So you really don’t know why you’ve got this letter.”

“Actually, I have a guess,” he leaned against the desk. “Someone’s trying to brag.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look at the signature. How many mages can finish their messages like this?”

“Only one, I suppose...” 

“She always said she wanted to become the First Enchanter. But this sounds even better, don’t you agree?” Alim finally took the letter from the templar’s hands.

“So you know her,” the discovery wasn’t shocking, but Ser Marion was slightly annoyed by the fact she didn’t realize it sooner.

“We grew up together,” the elf shrugged. “But then I was transferred here, and we lost contact. I bet you know why.”

She simply nodded in response. Casual correspondence between mages from different Circles was prohibited. Research papers were thoroughly inspected by the templars before being passed to the enchanters. There were exceptions, of course, but those were mostly made for the Senior Enchanters. An average mage’s life was confined in their home Tower, and normally they didn’t complain. 

“You can keep the letter,” she said finally. “And keep that... thing out of my way.”

She pointed at an animated skeleton in a simple blue robe standing at the room entrance. Alim grinned, but gestured to his “familiar” to move aside. Without saying a word, Ser Marion left the library.

These templars, Alim thought, were so easy to trick. They are so certain about their ability to deal with magic threat that they forget that spells are not the only thing the mages know. He created a tiny fireball in his palm and placed the letter close enough to it just to heat the paper, not to burn it. In few moments a real message from the Warden-Commander appeared between the lines. No magic, just cow milk used instead of ink, a method his people used to avoid the unnecessary attention from their jailers. Most of the research notes passed between the Circles contained such letters. 

“Hello Alim,

I haven’t heard anything about you for ages. Hope you’re doing well.

In my travels I stumbled upon something that may be beneficent to us all. The Eluvian. Your expertise in the Elven magic might be really useful here. If you’re interested, inform the messenger. If not... I wish you well.

Your friend,  
Cassandra.”

Alim heard something about the Eluvians some time ago, or read about them somewhere. Even in Elven legends they were barely mentioned, and nobody seemed to know what they looked like or what they were created for. But that was enough to attract his attention.

“The messenger, huh...” he murmured under his breath.

“That would be me.”

Alim jumped on his feet. The voice came from the darkest corner of the room. 

“Who’s there?” the mage tried not to sound too frightened.

“Oh, where are my manners?” a blond elf stepped from the shadow into a dim candle light. “My name is Zevran. Our mutual friend wanted me to get inside after the nightfall, but I thought, why wait if the beautiful templar lady would bring me directly to you?” He chuckled.

“Why indeed...” Alim stared at the man in front of him, still unable to believe that he managed to follow Ser Marion without being caught.

“She didn’t know I was the one who brought the letter,” Zevran continued, as if he knew what Alim was thinking about. “And I’m an elf not wearing a robe. Even if she’d see me, I doubt it would bother her.”

“But servants, mages...”

“Did you see me before I let you to?” Zevran made himself comfortable in the only chair in the room. 

“No.” 

Alim looked cautiously into the library, but the few mages sitting there minded their own business. He closed the door, just in case.

“So, what’s your answer?”

“What’s the question?” the mage leaned against a bookshelf.

“Will you go with me back to Ferelden to help your old friend with her project?” Zevran grinned.

“And leave everything I have here behind?” Alim started to protest, but then fell silent for a few seconds. “Actually, I don’t have much aside from my so called duty. I’m kind of special, you see.”

“Oh? How’s that?”

“While other mages throw fireballs and summon thunderstorms, I can barely light a candle with a spell. However, everything that requires dealing with the world of spirits, I can do better than anyone else. This tower has a particular problem, namely, the Veil here is not just thin, it was torn in several places. They brought me here when it happened about fifteen years ago. The place was a mess, I tell you. I managed to patch it, but the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander are afraid it can happen again. So they keep me here, just in case. They even call me the Guardian of the Veil. But in fact I’m just another elf that can be barked at at any time. The only difference is that I’m allowed to bark back occasionally. And I keep Bones as my personal servant. The templars hate him with passion but can’t do anything.”

“I wonder why...” Zevran looked amused.

“I have no idea,” Alim smiled. “So, what’s the deal with that Eluvian?”

“It’s an artifact from the time of Arlathan. A huge mirror-like thing with no reflection. I’m no historian and no mage, so I can’t give you much of information, but I can get you out of this place for sure.”

“Alright,” Alim said after a moment of silence. “Let me gather some of my stuff. I can’t leave the Tower unprepared.”

Zevran nodded, then disappeared into the shadows.


End file.
